


what was lost (and what will always stay)

by umathe



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betaed, Chaptered, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lee Minho | Lee Know Is Bad at Feelings, Lee Minho | Lee Know-centric, OT8, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Team as Family, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23075764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umathe/pseuds/umathe
Summary: Lee Minho partially loses his memory and regresses back to when he was the first eliminated trainee. The time lost was merely a year yet it was far more than that. Skills can’t be bought. Confidence can’t be faked. Minho has a lot of catching up to do.His family almost lost Minho once, then twice, but never again.
Relationships: Lee Minho | Lee Know & Everyone
Comments: 27
Kudos: 145





	1. I am. . . (I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SECTION | I am. . .**
> 
> Accidents inevitably happen, yes, but Minho and his team can't possibly allow anything to delay (or god forbid, end) their dream. They can't stop because their ultimate goal has yet to be achieved. Will they ever reach it? Perhaps and perhaps not. Still, as long as everyone stays together, Minho is sure they'll be satisfied with whatever outcome. But since they just started, there's no room for hiccups (so _"don't cry. There's nothing to worry about."_ ).
> 
> This **I am** section will commence just one of Minho's milestones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Seth for beta-ing this and just generally being a lovely person. 
> 
> This fic has been long in the making, considering it takes place right before SKZ's Miroh comeback. Still, I hope you enjoy it. 2021 reboot: updates to all past published chapters and those upcoming have been made to remove ex-member W. 
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING(s):** blood, head injuries

_ “To have a loving family is to feel afraid and yet believe you are going to be alright.” _

**\- Dean Atta**

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


The door to the studio slams open and Minho stomps in fresh out of the shower. His hair, still slightly damp and sticking against the gentle curves of his cheeks, gets roughly brushed aside. The heavy sports bag hanging over his shoulder bounces with the action, and Minho immediately tosses it to the ground. 

With his face twisted in exaggerated anguish, he starts with a growl-  _ "I am…!” _ -that deepens when he feels his limbs creaking and head pulsing. “I am stupidly tired. I can't believe how tired I am!" 

Glaring at the clock that dares to read a little past midnight, Minho takes long strides towards the only member that'd still be in the office and working at this godforsaken hour. 

Chan barely reacts to the noisy entrance. Seated in his usual rolling chair in front of his laptop and mini keyboard, he at least tilts his head so that their tired eyes could make contact. 

"Channie-hyung, do you know what I had to go through today? I swear I'm going to murder everybody that asks for free dance advice.” Minho grabs the back of Chan’s seat, shaking it roughly. Though he’s running on empty fumes, drained from hours of dance, vocal, and rap practices, which were followed by one-on-one dance sessions with their millennials, the pent up annoyance kept him moving. “The least they can do is repay me with food. Or money...yeah, money would be a lot better. I need new weights, so I can work out in our dorm instead of walking that whole distance to the gym. Except, from how tired I am recently, I’ll probably collapse before I even make it there. Even if I’m a dancer, I’m not built for six hours of intensive practice, hyung! Those kids need to understand that I'm getting old, and they will too eventually, so you know what? From now on, I’m limiting personal dance lessons to one kid a day. It’ll be a first come, first served type of service.”

Chan hums lowly and indifferently, causing Minho to glare down at him. However, when he sees his leader’s visage, his annoyance instantly dissipates as if he just got slapped with cold water. Chan is dead tired, surely far more than himself considering Chan didn’t even bother voicing his response. He’s slouching heavily on his seat’s armrest, while stubbornly keeping an arm outstretched with the mouse in hand despite the uncomfortable position. It causes the studio lights to hit him at an angle that somehow deepens the dark circles and decolors his lips. Coupled with his usually pale skin, he just looks sick.

Minho bites into his lower lip, shuffling his feet. 

Noticing Minho’s worried stance, Chan responds softly. “That sounds like a good plan. No need to stress yourself out, and don’t kill anyone.” He chuckles tiredly. “We need all  _ eight _ of us for the comeback.” 

Minho scoffs. “I'm sure someone can do twice the work.” Considering Chan’s unhealthy work ethic, he’d be the most voted by everyone to rest even during the promotions. The kids with their boundless energy can easily pull his weight.

“Don't joke like that, Minho. The amount of effort we put in affects our performance. No one’s going to slack off.” Though his leader’s words are slightly slurred from fatigue, it doesn't lessen the authority in them. 

Minho puts his hands up and cowers back a bit, having momentarily forgotten that jokes related to their stage performances are strictly taboo with Chan. The members can joke about their survival show days, make fun of 3RACHA’s  _ creative _ tracks, and screw around during dance practice to an extent, but Chan always drew the line here, especially since their comeback with Miroh is already next month on their debut anniversary. 

“Anyways, why are you still here?” Chan asks then with narrowed eyes. “It’s late.”

Minho gulps but also subtly rolls his eyes, recognizing that look as his warning that he’s about to get an earful (even though Chan’s the least qualified member to scold anyone about overworking). “I didn’t want to go home alone?” 

To that, Chan raises his brow skeptically and with good reason. Minho is an adult with quite the independent personality (unlike a particular dark rapper that can’t do anything alone), has lived by himself, and has most definitely gone home alone in the middle of the night before.

However, Minho’s also petty enough to not admit that his excuse was lame, thereby continuing his babbling. “Hyung, it’s already February and friggin’ cold. The ground is covered in snow which is like prime condition to slip. If I’m going home alone, who knows how many times I’ll fall. It doesn’t help that it’s pitch back outside so there’s absolutely _ no way _ I’ll avoid any ice puddles. Also, some asshole could totally try to mug me--”

“Minho…” Chan interrupts with a deep sigh, glancing at his laptop and tapping his fingers against the keyboard. “Get to the point.” 

_ Uwah, that pisses me off. _ Even if his words are starting to sound like a whiny drunk, Minho's not going to stand here and be deemed a mere distraction. “Go home with me. You need as much rest as me.”  _ If not more. _ To his displeasure (and expectations), Chan shakes his head and says curtly. 

“Can’t. Work.” 

Minho rolls his eyes again, not bothering to hide his annoyance this time. When does genius leader and producer, Bang Chan, not work? They just returned from Jakarta a few days ago, and while a normal person would have the sense to rest off the jetlag, Chan obviously didn’t get the memo. At these moments, Minho wonders if Chan’s allergic to sleep or something. 

For the rest of the team, it was difficult watching 3RACHA lock themselves in the studio to make deadlines (some self-enforced), especially during their trainee period and the show's filming. As such, Felix and other members have recently become interested in producing, if only to reduce their workload. After Stray Kids debuted, there had been expectations that 3RACHA would relax more, and thankfully Changbin and Jisung have for the sake of their physical and mental health, especially the latter. 

Minho grimaces, recalling having to apply pressure on Jisung’s stiff neck after their recent fan meeting. The younger boy has been battling social anxiety for a while and definitely doesn’t need the strain of overworking himself to be his undoing. So Minho and the rest of the team would greatly appreciate it if Chan would stop being such a bad influence. Because Jisung often produces like a competition in which he continuously has a point to prove, and absolutely refuses to be the least contributing member of 3RACHA. To Minho, both of them are being ridiculous. He’s not as outspoken as others, assuming they do enough scolding without him, but he can at least do his part. And in this situation, it’s getting Chan the fuck back home and resting properly. 

"We have regular practice at 8 AM, and I know from Hannie that you’ve been sleeping less than four hours recently."

"I'm used to it." Chan tilts his head to something behind him. "Besides, I have a place to sleep."

Narrowing his eyes at the black sofa, Minho wonders how to destroy company property without getting caught. "That doesn't look too comfortable.” Chan wouldn’t be able to stretch out properly if he lied down. It’s only meant to snugly seat two people vertically, after all. “Where are the blankets and pillows? Don't tell me you're going to sleep in a padded jacket."

“It’s not that bad.”

“Not bad but obviously not good either. There’s a reason why beds were invented.” 

"Minho, please…” Chan roughly runs his hand over his face and twice over his eyes, as if trying to scrub the exhaustion right out. “I'm not going to argue with you. Go home."

“Oh, I will but not alone!” Stomping his foot, Minho crosses his arms and puffs his cheeks out like a child throwing a tantrum. He dislikes doing such an unsightly thing, but he knows it’s effective on Chan, who’s soft on their younger members for a reason.

Sighing deeply, Chan kneads his temples. A thought passes where Minho seriously considers taking extreme methods like unplugging the equipment or something even worse like acting cute, but luckily, Chan’s too tired to extend the bickering. “Fine. But I need to clean up first.”

Minho brightens immediately, skipping to plop down on the sofa. "Of course, but hurry, Channie-hyung.” 

A few more minutes of waiting is nothing. As Minho absently follows Chan rummaging around the studio with his gaze, he grins, basking in his glory of successfully pulling Chan away from work. He’s obviously going to brag about this to the others. Previously, only their influential powerhouse, Jeongin, has accomplished this after hours and hours of whining. Minho pats himself on the back for doing it in less than ten minutes. 

“You know, I was totally ready to enact my final plan. If I had gone back first, I would’ve waited until I finished brushing my teeth and changing to check if you were home as well. If not, I would’ve come right back here in pajamas to drag your crusty ass home.”

"...you don't wear pajamas." Chan points out, uneasily.

"Good thing the cameras here don’t have to catch me in my underwear then." Minho winks, chuckling when Chan fake gags. 

They exit the studio, and Minho is more satisfied at the clicks of the lights turning off and the door locking than he wants to admit. He’s sure a few hours later (after an acceptable amount of sleep), he’ll think it was silly to get such a big head over this. But for now, he’s reveling in hearing their footsteps crunching the fresh snow and their breaths mixing in the winter air.  Occasionally, he would bump shoulders with Chan, seeking just a bit of warmth in the contact. One particular bump, combined with the weight of the heavy sports bag that dropped from his shoulder, accidentally sends Chan stumbling slightly. Minho grins when Chan only pouts back, too sleepy to scold him. 

But that also means Chan is too absent-minded. Because in the next second, he nearly runs headfirst into a telephone pole, barely dodging it because of his naturally athletic body and fast reflexes. However, he slips on a puddle of ice, falling with a  _ thud  _ right on his butt.

Minho winces. Stepping in front of Chan, he tilts his head when his leader remains on the snow-covered ground. It can’t be comfortable, especially since his padded jacket will get wet sooner or later. 

“Heeey…” 

Minho observes (with slight fascination) Chan completely spacing out in the middle of the winter night on a freezing sidewalk. His body’s fatigue must’ve caught up to him the instant he sat down (albeit forcefully). This makes Minho half regret dragging him out of the admittedly warm studio and away from the small sofa. Still, he’ll get a much better sleep at home, which is just a few more minutes away. 

With that thought in mind, Minho secretly stretches his legs and readjusts his sports bag before quietly crouching down to gather a decent amount of snow in his hands. Minho apologizes once in his mind then mercilessly dumps the snow right down Chan’s back. 

The screech that expectedly follows and harsh glare from a now fully awake and very angry Chan sends Minho carefully running away.  _ “What the hell?!” _

He dashes straight towards their dorm, shouting. “Race you back, hyung!”

“Hey, Minho-yah! That was uncalled for!”

“Sorry! Can’t hear you!” 

Gripping the sports bag closely to his side, Minho rushes forward without looking back to avoid slipping himself. Once he’s caught, he certainly expects retaliation in either the form of freezing hands or relentless tickles- both of which he’ll accept because he’ll make sure they’ll be home by then. Reaching their dorms in record time, Minho feels warm from the sudden exercise, and with his remaining adrenaline, he takes the stairs instead of the elevator. It might be shameless, but he intends to delay Chan’s retaliation for just a bit longer.

Minho chuckles to himself. This is the perks of being the second oldest child of the team: the freedom of acting childishly like this yet having a responsible big picture. 

He notices then, out of the window at a landing, small flurries of snow falling. The stairwell lights flicker from the lack of maintenance on the building, and Minho can smell concrete mixed with a hint of Febreze from Hyunjin accidentally spilling his bottle here during one frenzied morning rush. 

It must be due to Minho being too sleepy himself that he suddenly feels sentimental. Because he starts finding unnecessary meaning in each step up the stairs he takes.

1 step. For the team.

2 steps. For himself. After all, this is like the second stage of Lee Minho’s career- from a faceless backup dancer to Lee Know, the main dancer of award-winning rookie idol group under the prestigious JYP Entertainment.

3 steps. For the three members that serve as their team’s foundation but are lame enough to name their subunit after a hot sauce. They're not fooling anyone with other cool team name meanings. 

4 steps. For their goals to be achieved in their next comeback. But he has to wonder: when will they feel like their dream has come true?

5 steps. What exactly is their dream after debut? A first music show win? Another award? Breaking a record? A certain crowd size?  _ Are they living the dream now?  _

6 steps. He doesn’t know, but there’s no need to worry. Chan will lead them to wherever they need to go.

7 steps. For each of the years their leader had to train and dream by himself. For their awards and current fulfilling days to wash away all of their hardships and insecurities.

8 steps--

Minho blinks, suddenly finding himself a bit silly. As quickly as the sentimentally had hit him, it was gone, replaced by cold reality. 

He watches his breath dissipate in the air. What is he thinking so hard for anyway? He can contemplate about his future all he wants, and his team can have late night sessions over hot chocolate and chips, while planning goals and reliving highlights from their careers so far, but nothing will change the underlying fact:  _ an idol has a limited shelf life. _ A crammed year has passed successfully for Minho and his team, but there’s still a lot more to do. There’s no room for hiccups. 

_ So why is this happening? _

A sharp pang of pain shoots up his left ankle, startling Minho. He doesn't need to look down to know that he twisted it on the top step, done stupidly due to his absent-mindedness. But before he could imagine being carried by their manager again to his embarrassment, the heavy sports bag slips from his shoulder, pulling him harshly sideways. 

Weirded by the sudden tilt in his vision, Minho dumbly gasps and-  _ oh, shit. _ He quickly reaches for the railing but like all of his endeavors, he always,  _ always _ somehow loses sight of them at some point, and his fingertips never even get to graze the metal handles. 

He’d been so close. Just a few more steps and he could’ve been home. 

Minho coughs, spending a lengthy amount of time to figure out the flickering lights aggravating his vision are that from the ceiling. He must’ve landed because though he didn’t hear any cracks, he’s on his back with an upwards view to a full set of concrete steps. In stark contrast to the cold winter air, he could feel a pool of warmth spread below his head. It feels comfortable.  _ Yet absolutely disgusting. _

_ Damn it. _ He's bleeding from his head, something he absolutely doesn't want to deal with this late in the night.

In sudden hindsight, he should’ve never pulled off that prank. He was the one using muggers as an excuse in the studio, but he still left Chan alone out there. Instead, he should’ve made sure Chan safely reached the dorms and went to bed properly; it wouldn’t have taken too long since Chan would've fallen asleep the instant his head hit the pillow. Minho should’ve waited until then instead of running off like a careless child.

Will Chan find him? 

Does he want Chan to find him? 

He can’t possibly be a pretty sight right now, so part of him wishes Chan doesn’t have the sudden urge to exercise up a few flights of stairs.  _ Please use the elevators. Please...rest properly. _

Minho coughs again, feeling his throat ache from the influx of winter air. Still, he finds a newfound strength. There’s something he has to do before...he...

Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulls out his phone. 12:33 AM. _ Gotta hurry. _ He enters his pin (0325) and goes straight for his contacts, scrolling to find ‘Bang Chan-hyung.’ Except, he slips midway and flinches when his phone nearly falls right onto his face, instead hitting his collarbone and tumbling sideways and making a splat when it lands. He shudders in disgust. Clenching his eyes shut, he feels around his neck, ignoring the wet sensation around his fingertips to grab his phone. He briefly wipes the screen across his coat collar before opening his eyes, frowning. He didn’t buy a red phone or case. And he didn’t paint his nails red...no, wait.  _ Gotta hurry. _ Minho returns to his task, scrolls successfully to Chan’s contact, and presses the phone icon. He watches his phone screen blur for a moment. As he listens to the dial tone, he opens the notes app so that future he could complain to the store he bought his phone from. It’s been less than a year since he bought it, so he isn’t going to let a blurry screen pass considering the amount of money he dropped on it.

_ Stupid technology. How does Channie-hyung produce with all those hi-tech looking stuff? Changbinnie and Hannie are cool too how...they work with it… _

Right. He needs to tell them and the others that they’re cool and he loves them. Or is that too cheesy? A silent kiss on the cheek to each person might be easier.

“Hey, Minho." 

_ Channie-hyung. _

"I’m in front of the door now, so no need for the call.” Minho distantly hears a tired chuckle and a click. 

_ Hyung. _

The voice lowers to a whisper then, soothing and kind. “Go to sleep.” 

_ No.  _ He can't.  _ Not here. _

Though he’s not typically one to, he must go against his leader just this once. Because he can’t fall (stop) here. Forcing his lips apart, Minho screams. 

And continues to scream even though he can’t hear himself anymore.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Not here. 

Not here either. 

The door slamming in his haste (and most likely causing dents in the wall) alarms the sleeping residents of this room, but Chan couldn’t stop to care (or even mutter apologies) at this moment. 

Because Minho is not here. He ran off first but hasn't arrived home yet?

Chan had done his routine check of the members’ rooms and head counted them as they slept peacefully. He had softly smiled at each of them-  _ all except for one. _ Finding Minho’s shared bedroom absent of him, then the bathrooms and kitchen empty, Chan had been initially confused. Was Minho planning to pull another prank at home? No- he’s not that childish. Mischievous, yes. But not so immature to not understand the priority in a situation. He’s their dance leader for a reason. 

After ending one round of calm searching, Chan began to sweat. In his belated hindsight, the phone call with Minho was strange. Minho didn’t respond at all- not even with a grunt. Knowing him, he would’ve said something no matter how sleepy he was. 

_ It was like talking to a ghost. _

And Chan is deeply scolding himself for it. He shouldn’t have hung up right after only saying his part, but for now, self-reflection must wait because he can’t find Minho anywhere. 

Hitting his leg when passing a corner, Chan trips and barely catches himself from falling face-first onto the wooden floor. He hisses in pain briefly before the lights flickering below the dorm’s entrance captures his attention. _ No way. _ Jumping to his feet, he runs out of the dorm and shoves the door to the emergency staircase open. 

But the unexpected, repulsive smell of iron startles him back. 

_ What the hell? _ Since when did their staircase smell like this?

As the door swings back, he hears a weak, yet incredibly recognizable whimper. And Chan nearly forgets to breathe. With shaking hands, he pushes the door open again and takes one flight of stairs down in a trance. Any senses concerning his own safety have dulled despite warning sirens going crazy in his head. Who knows? A potential murderer could be down here but that familiar whimper (that's getting louder) keeps him going. Gripping the handle tightly, he turns the corner. And lets out a shattering scream. 

Minho is sprawled on his back with one hand gripping something on his chest, which sporadically rises to each barely audible stutter that escapes his parted lips. His eyes are half-lidded and barely twitch when that something (his phone) slips out and tumbles down his side, or when the screen cracks on contact with the concrete. It lands right beside a small red puddle of blood.  _ Oh god-  _ that’s blood coating the broken phone and dyeing Minho’s hands and littering his coat in red fingerprints. And directly below Minho’s head, there’s the red puddle that's less than half the size of his face, but it’s expanding-  _ why-- _

Chan leaps down the remaining steps then collapses right beside Minho’s fallen body. “Minho! H-Hey, Minho,  _ oh my god…!” _ Taking Minho’s hand between his, he winces at the squelch that sounds. 

When Minho slowly shifts his eyes to meet Chan’s, that allows him to catch his breath, softened a bit by the fact that he’s responsive. Pulling out his phone, Chan promptly dials. 

_ “119, what is your emergency--” _

“Help, please! Minho, he- he’s b-bleeding from his head. We’re at...” Chan sobs as he relays information to the calm and professional operator, all the while keeping eye contact with Minho. The younger appears unfocused, and Chan tightens the hold around his hand, practically crushing it. 

_ Don’t fall asleep. _ He doesn’t intend to inflict any more pain on Minho, but he fears something even worse happening if Minho loses consciousness now. 

“It’ll be o-okay. Stay with me... _ please.” _

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


It took a long time for Minho to notice that someone was beside him. He feels strong hands jostle his upper body to an elevated position and onto someone’s muscled thighs, then there's the rushed fumbling of his sports bag opening. Suddenly, a sharp wave of pain flares like wildfire, stemming from his temple down his entire body. Minho cries and tries to jerk away, but-

_ “Minho, please.” _

-the familiar yet raspy voice makes him go still. The shadow blocking the ceiling lights shifts slightly, and recognition comes to Minho.

_ Oh. Chan found him.  _

Of course, what wishful outcome did Minho expect? That his leader was peacefully resting at home?  _ Stupid.  _ He should know by now that none of his endeavors ever succeed on the first try, while some not ever. Case in point, Chan is currently crying waterfalls above him, desperation and panic so raw in his features.

Though Minho feels his lips trembling and throat burning, he attempts to speak. “Hy...”  _ Damn it. _ He could barely hear himself, shifting his head a bit towards Chan, who flinches.

“D-Don’t move.” Chan hurries in his first aid, diligently following instructions from the emergency operator. With shaking and stained hands, he tightly ties Minho’s clean shirt he had procured from the younger’s sports bag around his head and over the wound. Red blossoms immediately through the white fabric. “It’s going to be alright. You don’t have to say anything either, I- The ambulance is on the way,  _ so please.”  _

“...Channie...hy...ung…”

“Don’t speak-” Chan recoils from the sight of fresh blood trickling from Minho’s nose. Is that normal?  _ Is any of this situation normal? _ Chan feels his pants getting soaked and nearly throws up. He didn’t want to know that clothing soaked in blood could feel so warm and heavy. “P-please, hurry. Please…!” 

“...I…fine...” Minho foolishly continues speaking, despite the inexplicable weight escaping his nose and ears and lips. “D…”  _ Don’t cry.  _ “...you…ly.” 

Through a hazy mind, he finds Chan’s falling tears wetting his coat and neck. It feels slightly disgusting...yet so comforting. His hand is getting crushed, but for some reason, he wishes Chan would hold it tighter. 

Coughing, Minho curses silently. How does a single fall cause him to lose the ability to speak? Shadows are creeping at the edges of his vision, and he gurgles through the heavy weight in his mouth, hurriedly trying to form coherent words before...he...

_ I’m fine. You go rest.  _

_ There’s nothing to worry about.  _

_ You’re uglier when you cry, _ he wants to tell his leader all that so badly.  _ Damn it. And damn this inexplicable weight.  _ What the hell? Blood shouldn’t have such a deteriorating effect. 

Still, though he’s terrified of his leader’s visage slowly blurring away, the pulsing heat radiating from the large hands carefully cradling him like he’s so, so precious overpowers and calms him. 

He could actually fall asleep like this. Peacefully, even. 

Though he inwardly knows he shouldn’t since they’re not home yet, Minho somehow thinks it’ll be fine. Chan is here, after all. He’s the leader that chose each one of them, carrying everyone’s dreams and hardships and insecurities on his shoulders. So since Chan himself said _ ‘it’s going to be alright,’ _ who is Minho to doubt that?

Just for a minute...just for a few intervals then, Minho closes his eyes and allows the darkness to consume him. 

He’ll be back to normal soon, anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published fic and it's dedicated to my ultimate group, SKZ. As such, I would love to hear your thoughts on it!
> 
> You may find my wonderful beta on ao3@[DazzlingCrescent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DazzlingCrescent). Please give him lots of love, as well!


	2. I am. . . (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRIGGER WARNING(s):** blood, mild panic attack

“Hyung?” 

Changbin flinches and drops his phone, sending it noisily clattering against the wooden floor. His hand, cramped from how hard he had been clenching it, falls to his side. Though he hears sleepy footsteps approaching from behind him, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the flashing lights of the ambulance and police outside their dorm building, following it even as it disappears into the distance. Had it been any other member, he wonders if they’d spontaneously run into the winter night to chase after it.

“Um...what’s wrong?” Hyunjin takes ahold of Changbin’s arm, then pauses. “You’re shaking.” When Changbin doesn’t answer and continues blankly staring out of the window, Hyunjin carefully pulls Changbin back so they face each other. The miserable frown on the older’s face startles him. “W-What’s wrong, hyung? You’re scaring me… Did...” Hyunjin gulps. "Where's Channie-hyung and Minho-hyung?"

Changbin flinches again. Digging his nails into his palm, he concentrates on taking deep breaths, temporarily filtering Hyunjin's spiraling words out.

"They're the only two not in the dorm right now, but Innie swore he heard Channie-hyung running around looking for something like a madman. Do you know why?” Hyunjin shifts to peek at the bedside clock, furrowing his brows. “It's past 1 AM...where are they? We called them both but got no response. Channie-hyung is one thing, but Minho-hyung should’ve picked up. Do you think something happened to them? Is that why they're not here?” His breath hitches. “And the ambulance just now...i-it can't be for them, right?  _ Hey, answer me, hyung--" _

Changbin pulls Hyunjin into a tight hug, worried that the boy would induce his own panic attack. "Calm down, Jinnie." 

_ I have to calm down.  _ Because their leader surely won't be able to handle  _ six _ crying kids later at the hospital. With the two eldest currently out of commission, he has to- he must step up to the needed role. 

Glancing towards the living room, Changbin can discern nervous pacing from the shadows. "I'm going to call Yujin-hyung and Hyunwoo-hyung. In the meantime, can you tell the rest of the kids outside to get dressed?" He picks up his phone off the floor then scrolls for their managers' contacts.

"What for?" Hyunjin asks, uneasily.

"We're going to the hospital." Clicking the dial button, Changbin holds his phone excessively close to his ear. "Minho-hyung got sent to the ER." 

For the moment, Changbin soaks in the shocked silence because he knows (and knows for Chan as well) that it's going to be a long night ahead. Sighing deeply, he quietly thanks the dial tone for partially drowning out the cries that erupt one after another. 

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


_ What went wrong? Just how could this have happened? _

The blaring alarm sounds across the entire hospital, muted in the bathroom here, but enough to remind Chan of the ambulance ride ("Hang on.” Crushing Minho’s hand in between his, he’s hyper-aware of any slight movement made by the younger, wishing that the occasional twitches meant that Minho is fighting to stay awake.  _ To stay alive. _ “Please. Hang on...!"). 

Chan turns the faucet handle further, drowning his hands beneath the running water as he roughly scrubs at the dried patches of blood on his arms, hands, under his fingertips, coat sleeves, bracelet, pants-  _ it was everywhere. _ Holding his breath, he watches the rustic red brighten and twist around the sink. However, perhaps due to the sheer amount of blood he was covered in, he doesn’t feel clean even after practically scrubbing a layer of skin off. 

Are his eyes playing a trick on him? Why does his usually pale skin look so red? Slowly and kind of forcefully, Chan drags his nails over it, flinching from the pain as scratch marks appear. He shakingly looks beneath his nails and nearly vomits.  _ Red. _

_ Oh my god.  _ Chan is really covered in a film of Minho’s blood.

Shutting his eyes doesn’t help calm his breathing or prevent haunting images from flashing under his eyes considering there are sensory reminders everywhere. From the resounding alarm and lingering iron stench, Chan could somehow  _ see _ Minho’s crumpled, unresponsive body right before him. His limbs, that usually move in a refined and powerful manner, could barely move- only able to weakly twitch in Chan’s hands. His pretty face was obscured by so much red and his eyes were so...so lifeless-- 

_ Stop it. That’s not their Minho. _

Minho is graceful, savage, and with a heart of gold. He can be quiet one moment then be pulling annoying pranks in the next. Chan needs to see Minho’s mischievous smirk as he spouts jokes and playful insults. Actually, he needs anything Minho can offer before this fake image of one of his family gets permanently imprinted in his mind.

Eventually, Chan is found and led out of the bathroom by hospital staff. He doesn’t know how long he had stayed frozen in there, and though he’s aware of many people surrounding him, careful of his mental condition, he minimally registers details of what they report about Minho. Light abrasion on his temple. MRI scans being analyzed. Sleeping peacefully. A private hospital room.

“So he’s okay?”  _ He’s alive and well? _ Chan's surprised he was even able to process that much in his state. When the nurse nods with a soft smile, Chan just loses the strength in his legs, but before he could collapse fully to the ground, strong arms catch him. Getting squeezed around his waist, Chan freezes at the contact-

“Channie-hyung.”

-then instantly relaxes, recognizing Changbin’s warm voice. Except, it’s too hoarse (and kind of broken?). Tilting his head, Chan finds Changbin with a complicated expression on- one that’s a mixture of sorrow (anger?) and determination. He’s never seen Changbin like this before, but before he could comment on it, they get interrupted by stressed choruses of  _ ‘hyung’ _ from down the hospital hallway. The two sigh, straighten their backs and take composed guises. Then gets tackled by the rest of their members. 

Changbin catches one member, unsure for a moment why Felix ran to him for comfort but quickly understands when he peeks at Chan being engulfed by the rest of them. He could barely see their leader under the pile of limbs, but one look at his tired (and broken) expression causes Changbin to wince. It reminds him of the survival show when orchestrated events continuously occurred purely to challenge (and even separate) their family for the sake of entertainment. 

Compared to that relentless period, tonight feels cruelly similar- even after Chan had started his stuttering account with reassurance that Minho is sleeping peacefully now. The main reason, Changbin suspects, is the remnants of blood everywhere on Chan. The members, though having the sense to not point it out verbally, couldn’t help but shudder once they realized some of it had spread on to them from the initial hug. 

As the story continues, Changbin sympathetically watches Chan, wishing he could take some of his pain (and memories) away. This night will haunt him- no doubt about it. Because when he explains how he had found Minho, the detailed metaphor Chan provided ( _ “It was like he was floating in a puddle of his own blood.” _ ) sends shivers down Changbin’s back. The human mind is such a mystery. One second he's in the secure hospital and in another, it's like a red sheet had been pulled over his eyes, and he could somehow smell iron- like the fallen Minho is right before him.

_ No. _ He doesn’t want to imagine it- doesn’t want to jinx it into reality. He doesn’t want to imagine one of his family so hurt, and he pities Chan for being the one to have found him. 

_ “Why must it be my team?” _ Chan suddenly breaks. “Why Minho? Why do I-  _ It’s all my fault.”  _

Changbin promptly jumps to his feet to engulf Chan into a tight hug. Though he expected it, Changbin doesn’t want to see his leader blame himself unreasonably. From his story, there’s no possible way for Chan to have prevented this.  _ Minho was the one that ran off by himself, after all. _

Jisung, being closest to the two hugging, hesitantly places his hand on Chan’s shoulder. Meanwhile, Hyujin, Seungmin, Felix, and Jeongin all stand on the opposite side of the hallway, empty of words, while intertwining their hands tightly. It’s an unfortunate thing. The team could provide Chan all the affection and praise and skinship he could ever want, but are lost on how to properly comfort him. 

Their thoughts spiral.

Minho with a head injury...what effects could he suffer from? Damage to his eyes, movement- what else is there? What horrible things can their mind conjure before they feel sick themselves? 

They need to see Minho as soon as possible. They need him to tell them of his own accident in his signature light-hearted manner, to laugh at them for worrying over something so stupid, and to eventually feel guilty for causing them to lose sleep and make it up with his cooking. Most importantly, they need him home (where he belongs) to be sure he’s safe, happy, and within their reach. 

The frosted wall that separates the hallway and Minho makes everyone bitter, driving their impatience for their managers to quickly work it out with hospital staff and properly clear them as family members for visitation rights.

Hurry.

_ Hurry- they need to see their Minho. _

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Minho wakes, frowning at the sunlight passing through the windows. Wait...windows? The dorm-  _ no, his apartment- _ doesn’t have windows next to his bed. Shifting under the sheets, he gets confused at how sluggish his movements are, too unnatural to be from typical drowsiness and late-night practices, but manages to sit up using his elbows as leverage. 

Before he could question the hospital attire, the door slams open, and Chan and Changbin enter in a rush, practically tripping over each other. Minho gapes at their strange appearances. Aside from looking absolutely exhausted, like they haven’t slept for over 48 hours, Changbin's dressed in a winter coat with pajamas underneath and open-toed slippers; both latter clothing articles in adorable pig print. On the other hand, Chan appears as if he had walked straight out of a movie set, decorated with fake blood all over his clothes and hands. Minho wants to think Chan just came off some weird acting role ( _ in the middle of filming for their show? _ ). He really wants to make some kind of sarcastic joke that the image is ridiculous (and dangerous) to walk off set like that, but he can read the atmosphere. 

And right now, it’s too tense for his liking. 

“Hey…morning?” Minho tries, breaking the frozen stupor the two had fallen in. 

Why did just finding him awake cause them to freeze like that?  _ Stupid- _ of course, it’s because he woke up in a hospital, but he doesn’t know why. _ Why is he here? _

_ “Oh my god.” _ Chan steps heavily towards Minho then touches his cheek gently. His fingers are shaking so much as if Minho is some kind of fragile porcelain. 

That prompts Minho to place his hand over Chan’s and nuzzle his cheek into it (rather roughly to make some kind of point). When Chan continues shaking and a strange whimper sounds, Minho peeks up at him, wincing when a stray tear falls right onto his face. 

_ What the hell? _

“I’m fine, Chan-hyung.” Even though Minho doesn’t understand, he still reaches out to comfort his ( _ former _ ) leader so that both of their hands are intertwined, giving a reassuring squeeze while Chan crushes them back.

“Yeah…you’re fine.  _ You’re fine now.” _ Chan repeats, with utmost intent to convince himself of that.  _ “Thank god.” _

Changbin drags over two chairs then pats Chan’s shoulder, guiding him to sit down. Refusing to let go of Minho, Chan takes the nearest one to the bed while Changbin settles in the other and rests his hands over both of the eldests' thighs. “Minho-hyung, you scared us.” 

“Uh...sorry?” Minho tilts his head. “What happened?” 

Confused glances are exchanged between the two. Changbin furrows his brows slightly, whereas Chan releases a nervous breath. In all the time Minho has known Chan ( _ granted it's only a few months _ ), he's never seen him so apprehensive- as if things are spiraling out of control, piece by piece.

Chan asks, voice carefully articulate. “You don’t...remember?”

Should he? “Not really. Honestly, I’m still sleepy, so don’t expect me to think straight, hyung. You know I'm the farthest from that even sober.” 

A small smile flashes but is gone just as quickly, as Chan starts explaining; it seems he’s making a conscious effort to not cry or stutter. “You fell...in the stairwell. Hyunwoo-hyung checked the security cameras, and it seems like you had trouble with the top step, so you f-fell. Is your foot alright, by the way?”

“What?” Minho blinks. Chan’s question goes in one ear and right out the other because he could only focus on one point. “I fell?”

Once again, the two glance at each other, holding the contact longer this time. 

Slightly irked that they're sharing some kind of silent yet very important conversation right before him, Minho tugs Chan's hand. "Hey, did I really fall? Because that's not possible. My apartment is on the first floor. And who is Hyunwoo-hyung, anyways?" 

If Chan looked unwell entering the room, he's practically hyperventilating now. 

In contrast, Changbin deepens his frown. "You fell, Minho-hyung. And if...you really can't remember everything because that's just how head injuries are, then-" He pauses, choosing his words cautiously. "Then we'll work something out. But don't lie- or play around with us. Not right now,  _ please. _ You fell in the stairwell of our dorm."

Minho frowns back. He's certainly drowsy but not a liar. "I left the dorm literally a week ago after my elimination. I haven't been back there since--" 

He cuts himself off, interrupted by their silent reactions. Because Chan’s and Changbin’s expressions are screaming- in an absolutely terrified way. 

So it clicks in Minho instantly. 

_ Oh, shit. _

Seriously? 

Could this seriously happen to him? This overdramatic and stupid cliche that deserves to be in some daytime drama? 

_ This doesn't happen in real life. _

"...what's today's date?" When neither respond, Minho shakes Chan roughly. At least work with him to quickly disprove this stupid possibility. "Hey. What. Is. Today's date?" 

"It's...January 31st." Changbin forces out.

_ Shit. _ "And the year?"

"2019."

"Seriously?" Minho laughs, which is probably the worst first reaction to finding out he’s missing at least a year's worth of memories.  _ "Fucking seriously?"  _

Yanking his hands away from Chan’s, Minho moves to knead his temple, freezing at the feeling of bandages. He brushes his hand mindlessly around, noting how the bandage goes all around his head and winces when he feels a large lump concentrated on his left temple. Without a second thought, he jabs into the lump and feels jagged resistance like stitches besides skin. 

_ It hurts. _

Why is he doing this-  _ so stupid, stupid-- _

But he needed proof. And this heated, blossoming pain is just that. 

"What are you doing?!" Chan shrieks, tearing Minho’s hand away from his injury that is once again bleeding. 

Changbin dashes out the door, calling for  _ 'Yujin-hyung!' _

Another name Minho doesn't recognize. A manager? Why does a group of eight trainees need managers? They've always practiced, choreographed, and produced by themselves. 

Wait- are they still even trainees? An entire year has passed, so does that mean they successfully debuted? If so, with how many of them? Was he brought back (because that’s how shows work)? Or are Chan and Changbin simply visiting someone they previously trained with out of kindness? __

_ That can't happen. He can't be their burden anymore. _

If they really debuted (with or without him), they can't be wasting time here in the hospital. "No. No, l-let me go." 

_ It hurts.  _

_ I can't breathe. _

"Minho, stop--"

“I’ve got him. Step back and call a doctor, Chan-ah.”

Minho feels his wrists getting seized, tensing as bulky hands hold them as far away from his head as possible.  _ These aren’t from his members-  _ He naturally struggles, which causes him to get yanked forward. With a gasp, he opens his eyes (unaware they had been closed all this time), coming face to face with ‘Yujin-hyung.’ Minho frowns, recognizing him as one of 2PM’s managers. Why is he here?  _ Just what is going on?  _

“Minho-yah, breathe.” Yujin instructs tensely, rubbing Minho’s wrist gently with his thumb.

“N-No.” Minho tries to pull away again, overloaded from the situation. He doesn’t know what’s going on at all. He’s only seen ‘Yujin-hyung’ in the JYP office building in passing, having had no personal interactions prior. So he can’t possibly feel comfortable around this unfamiliar man who’s looking at Minho with such caring eyes like he’s one of his own sons. “No.” He shakes his head, getting his wrists crushed. 

“Stop- don’t hurt yourself anymore.”

Minho distantly registers hospital staff entering, accompanied by more bodies surrounding him. More and more hands reach and touch him everywhere. He can’t breathe like this.

_ “Stray Kids, _ Minho-yah. Do it for Stray Kids...calm down.“

_ Please. _

Flinching when someone pushes a mask over his nose and mouth, he turns away, finding Chan and Changbin standing plastered to the opposite wall, hand in hand while distantly watching in horror. 

Changbin splits his attention between his older brothers, wincing when Minho suddenly chokes, and Chan digs his nails into Changbin’s hand, surely leaving indents. He wonders if panic attacks could be contagious because as they continue to watch Minho being crowded, Chan’s breathing is turning more and more erratic. Changbin glances at Minho, channeling some silent apology through his eyes-

_ For what reason? _ Minho wouldn’t know.

-and drags Chan forcefully out of the room.

_ What?  _

Minho blinks, too stunned to do anything other than stare at their retreating backs. _ Why are they-- _

"Breathe." A rough pat on his back causes Minho to gasp and fog the mask, unaware he had stopped breathing. However, there’s no way he could concentrate on doing some vital action because suddenly, a question poisons his mind as he watches the door swing shut.

_ Did his team just walk out on him? _

“Keep breathing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, comments are much appreciated.
> 
> You may find my wonderful beta on ao3@[DazzlingCrescent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DazzlingCrescent). Please give him lots of love, as well!


	3. I am. . . (III)

“It’s retrograde amnesia.” 

Minho wants to cry at the absurdity. He wants to demand from this doctor just how he could relay this cruel diagnosis with such a gentle tone. The aged yet soft demeanor of the doctor and soothing decorations of his examination room drastically contrast Minho's inner turmoil, stirring his desire to run out and scream (as if his mad episode an hour ago wasn't enough). However, he thanks his remaining piece of sanity, which keeps Minho seated attentively, appearing as calm as possible.

Judging that his patient has absorbed the first piece quite well ( _it's just a_ _façade_ ), the doctor continues. "Like other forms of head injuries, treatment is quite difficult as the priority is to not further stress the brain. So make sure to get plenty of rest and avoid any strenuous activities." He peeks over his rim glasses, asking. "You are an idol, yes?"

 _Is he?_ "Yes, sir."

The doctor nods, looking satisfied for some reason. "You are a handsome boy, after all. Anyways, dancing...and other physical activities you may do, make sure to avoid them for at least a week. Honestly, I want you fully rested for two whole weeks at home, but from how much your managers hounded our administrative staff, I don't believe that's possible. You kids have quite a busy career." When Minho tilts his head in confusion, he elaborates. “Our staff relayed to us how strongly your two managers pushed for visitation rights, which are typically exclusive to family to the point where our staff had to work through the night getting the paperwork done. That was a pleasant story for me to hear, actually. My daughters follow many idol groups and love to talk about how the members act like a true family. I definitely saw that when I called for your family after surgery last night, and all of the young boys present, presumably your members, responded immediately." He smiles warmly. "You're quite loved."

Minho bows his head, not quite sure how to respond. He's certainly happy his members care for him enough to stay in the hospital through the night. It somehow reassures him that they really are a team (even during the time he doesn't remember). 

But there's a nervous pit in his stomach. "Um… This amnesia thing- how long will it last? It's not p-permanent, right?" 

The doctor looks at him sympathetically. “Considering the level of injury done, it’s highly unlikely. Head injuries tend to bleed a lot, but the abrasion is actually quite small. Your MRI scans are good too, so at this point, it's up to your body to naturally heal. However, I can't give you a definite answer when you'll be back to normal." He quickly adds then, as if in some consolation. "Still, it won’t inhibit your ability to learn new skills or retain your current memories. The year that you’ve lost seems to be the only damage." 

_Yay?_ Minho chews on his lower lip, wondering if he should be happy about that.

"You'll be fine. I've already briefed your team and managers of what's needed for you at home."

Minho frowns. "What's...needed?"

"Of course. It's protocol for patients with amnesia to brief their family. Surely many things have changed for you-" _The best understatement._ "-so you will need people to watch over you closely. At all times. Don't underestimate loss of memories, no matter how obscure it seems. It can lead to drastic physical and mental consequences, which I'm sure you don't want to put your family through. You boys are still young."

Minho nods, fiddling with his hands. He has to wonder what Chan and the others did to convince hospital professionals to get elevated family status, such that this doctor refers to them as his 'family' above his parents and grandparents and have their dorm be his 'home.’ However, if he's really being honest with himself, he's thankful because then he doesn't have to shock his real family. They've already sacrificed a lot to allow him to pursue this career as an only child. 

He can't cause anymore trouble.

_So why is this happening?_

Minho bows politely as he exits. The doctor had stressed and re-stressed the importance of resting for the sake of his future. But what's really so important about that? He needs to be ‘normal’ now. What bothers him the most is that he feels completely fine. He also appears well and healthy (that is, aside from the giant bandage around his head).

His team ( _are they still his team?_ ) will leave him behind. Or have they already? After that rather chaotic morning episode (he should’ve controlled himself), Chan and Changbin were nowhere to be found. Even that unfamiliar manager, 'Yujin-hyung', left him alone for the private examination with the doctor. Sighing, Minho pats the pockets of his hospital gown, naturally finding it empty. Even without his phone, he doesn't remember anyone's numbers, anyway. 

Out of many options, Minho returns to his room, taking a roundabout route. He wants to at least be on his feet while thinking and moving lets him focus his mind forward. 

_Forward_ \- what should he do from now on?

Stray Kids.

( _"Do it for Stray Kids."_ )

What that 'Yujin-hyung' said...he's already debuted, right? With Chan's team? He’s dreamed of it for years since he first auditioned for Cube, throughout late night practices, and often during accompanied tours with BTS where he stood on stage before millions of lights. They weren’t directed at him, of course, but he still felt it deep inside. The brilliant spectacle fueled his dream and passion towards his own debut. But now he can’t even remember it. 

Had he woken still as a trainee, responsible for only himself, this would have been so much easier. And he despises himself for thinking that way because it just sounds too selfish. He's part of an idol group, and anything he does will affect them as a whole. 

How many of them are there? 

Eight?

_For how long?_

Minho pauses, stalling in front of a staircase. Seeing the steps climb upwards makes him strangely nauseous. Would seeing from the top be scarier? Just the thought sends shivers down his back, so he runs away, not stopping until he’s back in front of his private hospital room. However, he doesn't enter. 

Minho’s mind is a total mess. He wants to see his members but also doesn’t want to see them. 

He inherently knows he can't act in any more alarming ways and can’t show them the he at this moment. This weak eliminated trainee- he’s not what Stray Kids needs. Rather, they need that stupid future Minho who clumsily fell (even though he’d rid of him without hesitation). He’s sure they’d choose that over him if given the choice, which honestly makes no sense. Minho may be overthinking- overreaching with his pessimism, yet this strange reasoning weighs heavily for him...and in turn, for Stray Kids. 

So that he can present himself better, maybe he should just run away--

The door suddenly sliding open startles Minho, but before he could stumble back, a gentle yet firm grip holds him steady. "Are you alright?"

Minho stares at Chan's hand that's wrapped around his arm. _What is this warmth?_ He nods stiffly, letting Chan drag him into a hug. Chan's wide shoulders engulf him entirely, and Minho winces from the awkward press on his ribs but stays silent even when Chan’s arms squeeze tighter to the point that it’s borderline painful. The younger figures he owes his leader this much. One, for freaking him out this morning ( _he should’ve controlled himself_ ), and two, for most definitely causing him to lose sleep if Chan’s bloodshot eyes and dark circles are any indications ( _damn his stupid future self_ ). Minho quickly lowers his head from guilt when Changbin walks over with a similar visage, allowing him to pull Minho into another warm hug. 

_Were they always such a skinship needy kind of group?_

'Yujin-hyung' nears then, and Minho unconsciously tenses, reminded of the rather forceful squeeze around his wrists and uncomfortable, caring gaze during their prior first meeting. Well, it was a first meeting for _him._

Noticing his unease, Chan leans in. "Yujin-hyung moved to be our- Stray Kids' manager right after we debuted. He's like our second father, so you can trust him with anything."

When Minho nods, there's a silent (yet obvious) comment by the others: _so he really doesn’t remember._

A heavy moment of silence follows with all of them staring at Minho, notably at his bandaged temple though at least Chan tried to be subtle about it. Minho shrinks from the attention, feeling self-conscious because it’s like they’re expecting him to break the silence, like their future Minho would be able to say something appropriate instantly. But he doesn’t. Instead, he smiles while holding the silence. What could he possibly start talking about, anyway? ( _“It’s been a long time? You look different but admittedly cooler, hyung. Though kind of ugly at the moment because of all the crying. Sorry about this morning. I don't remember it but you don't have to worry about my accident. It must've been just a clumsy, stupid mistake--”_ ) 

“Minho…” Chan takes his hand. “Why don't you...um, sit for now? We can talk about what to do from now on.”

What to do? ( _Forward._ )

Minho nods, sighing in relief as he settles on the hospital bed. He can trust Chan to make the best decision for both him and the team. After all, Chan's been doing that since the start of their (his) group.

“Yujin-hyung and Hyunwoo-hyung, our other manager, already handled all the paperwork for the hospital, so we can leave anytime.” Chan rubs Minho's hand softly, making the younger stare. 

_Why is he always holding my hand?_

“The doctor already briefed us on what's needed for you at home, but we just want to check if _you_ need anything first. Any personal things you need, I- we'll get it for you. And any questions you might not want the kids hearing just yet...we'll answer them.”

At his leader's last comment, Minho flinches, meeting Chan's and Changbin's eyes that seem too knowing- too insightful. 

Since Minho managed to collect himself after this morning's episode, he immediately dreaded how the younger ones would react. He doesn't have a problem with 3RACHA finding out about his lack of memories; two of three are already checked off, after all. Considering he already relies on them for rapping, there's no need to put up his usual prideful older brother front. But the others...what will they think of him? Will they scoff at him when he directs their dance practices? Maybe replace him with Hyunjin or Felix? And leave him feeling like goldfish poop to just dangle along for the ride? 

These insecure and detrimental questions flood his mind. It's just him being prideful- embarrassed, perhaps- and selfish to try to still act reliable and in control after the accident ( _again, damn his stupid future self_ ). However, Chan and Changbin couldn't have seen through his cool façade, right? It's one thing to have the younger ones doubt his abilities and another to be completely seen through for how weak he truly is.

“Minho?”

Minho forces himself to speak if only to stop their concerned and knowing gazes. “Can you just...start at the beginning?”

Chan and Changbin share a look before the former carefully asks. “So when we first met?”

“No. After I left the dorm.” Minho snaps, admittedly a bit too harshly. Added with him yanking his hand away, Minho grimaces for causing the startled hurt across Chan's face, but his pride keeps him silent. 

He doesn't want the aftermath of this mere ‘accident’ to be blown out of proportion. He still remembers how Chan's team, Stray Kids, was gathered. He still knows how to dance incredibly well and recalls the singing lessons. 

He's not that useless. 

But his childish mental fortitude couldn't have prepared him for what followed. 

Chan began fondly and quite proudly recounting his team's adventures and accomplishments of the past year, hoping to fill in gaps of Minho's memories like a child pulling a blanket over their younger siblings during the night with _oh so_ such good intentions, while unaware that they’re actually suffocating them. By the time Chan starts narrating about MAMA, Minho has left deep indents across his palms from how hard he was squeezing his shaking hands together. 

He mentally smacks down his anger that flared concerning Felix's elimination, and once more- smacks down the joy learning about their record number of rookie awards. 

Because _he,_ this eliminated trainee, wasn't the one who walked with Stray Kids to accomplish that. He didn't help choreograph Stray Kids' songs nor did he lead his members through dance practices. He shouldn't feel proud of something he didn't do. 

Rather, he shouldn't be angry or proud or even happy right now. Because Stray Kids has three mini albums and a mixtape. _Damn it._ How many of those have dances? Just why did their genius 3RACHA have to work so hard?

“So...we're still on tour?” Minho asks, nervously.

“That's right. As part of the ‘I Am…’ series, our next stop is in Melbourne. We're going to perform in Australia, Minho.” At Chan’s bright expression, Minho couldn't help but melt at that, momentarily forgetting his anxiety. 

Chan and Felix will return home to perform as real artists and be able to showcase the cumulation of their hardships, success, and passion before their family, friends, and countrymen. Minho feels proud-- 

But stops himself. Now is not the time for unnecessary feelings. He can celebrate with his team (coworkers? friends? family?) later. His memory may have regressed, but his professional attitude can’t be lost too. 

“The showcase is on February 26th.” Changbin notes. “That's less than a month away. If this…” _Doesn't get fixed by then._ Unsaid words hang in the air but were heard by everyone. “Well, Minho-hyung should probably--”

“How many songs will be performed, Chan-hyung?” Minho cuts in, voice monotone and business-like. 

Even though Changbin got interrupted, he doesn’t look ticked at all (a clear difference from the past fiery trainee), pausing for Chan to answer rather hesitantly. 

“19 songs...from all of our tracklists.”

“And how many have actual choreography?” Walking around the stage would be easy.

“...nearly all of them.” 

_Damn it._ Minho bites into his cheek. _Fucking damn it- screw his luck._

No. 

He’s done plenty of tours with BTS before, including those that had last-minute changes in the choreography due to missing dancers. But can he relearn 19 dances in less than a month? In three weeks? Or even in two weeks if he gets forced to rest fully? 

No. _He has to._

If he skimmed on the resting period- if he didn't rest at all, rather. It should be fine then. _It has to be fine._ It’ll just be like studying for a university's entrance exam a few hours prior. 

“Minho-hyung.” The sudden flare in Changbin’s voice makes Minho flinch. “If you're thinking of actually performing on stage when you're like this--”

“I can do it.” _Trust me._

“It's not about whether or not you can do it. It's--”

“Then what's the problem?” Minho knows he's treading a dangerous line by constantly interrupting (and likely provoking) Changbin, but he couldn't risk letting Changbin finish, especially with a manager in the room. They could easily run to management later with some influenced suggestions ( _“Minho should sit out of the concert. Rather, a hiatus may be better.”_ Or worst-case scenario: _“He should be removed from the group--”_ ).

“Minho-hyung.” Changbin clenches his teeth, visibly frustrated. “This is about you pushing yourself unnecessarily. You need to rest.”

“And I will. The doctor said to do so for one week.”

 _“One week?_ Every single article I've read concerning head injuries require rest for at least _two whole weeks.”_

He can't do that. “I’m pretty sure the doctor said one, though? C’mon, I wouldn't make a mistake like that.” Why is Changbin so irritated? Minho's moving forward with the best intentions- 

_For Stray Kids._

-and they'll have their main dancer back to ‘normal’ faster. Shouldn't they be happy about that? “I’m properly thinking about my health. The doctor said so himself: head injuries are not to be taken lightly. So, I won’t do anything for exactly one week.”

“You expect us to believe that, hyung?” Changbin challenges.

Minho wonders why Changbin, even Chan, is being so difficult. He knows he’s wearing his most sincere expression. “Of course.”

“You really think we're that stupid.” Changbin growls. “You honestly think we don't know that you'll look at dance videos on your phone or practice at home the instant we're not around?”

Minho flinches, gaping with wide eyes. _What the hell?_ He was planning to do exactly just that. 

There hadn't been a single doubt in his mind that he'd inevitably be left alone in the dorm. So he was most definitely planning to use this ‘resting’ one week for rigorous mental rehearsal, perhaps even light stretches and dance moves in preparation for when he gets cleared for the practice room. Everyone, no matter their opinion, would be dragged to the office for regular practice and lessons. They wouldn't (shouldn't) stop just to accommodate one ailing piece of eight. He had been so sure. 

_But now…_ He shrinks under their determined and knowing gazes- as if they'd stop the world's rotation for him.

How did Changbin read his intentions so accurately? He controlled his expressions and words properly, didn't he?

“We know you, Minho.” Chan answers. 

When Minho turns towards him, Chan forces a smile, hiding the frown that threatened to show. Because Minho’s lips and hands are trembling. None of his team should be reacting like this due to another member, _like Minho's scared of them._

“We know you're planning to push yourself for us and for...other important reasons but please don't. We'll work this out together. You know our team motto.”

_Eight or none._

_Eight or fucking none._

Minho hates himself for cursing their precious motto and hates himself even more for this disgusting reaction- one that's like bugs crawling under his skin to Chan's kind words, which surely intended to be reassuring. Had it been any other circumstance, Minho figures he would've been touched that they continuously consider him a precious member. But right now, he's terrified, uncomfortable, and totally creeped out like a stranger suddenly broadcasted his apartment's password to the world then bragged that they're currently wearing his stolen underwear. 

They're practically reading his mind yet all Minho can do in return is cower before Changbin’s quite scary scowl and shake at Chan's too soft (too knowing) demeanor. What are they thinking? About him? In a negative way? ( _“He should be removed from the group--”_ ). 

Minho curses silently. He can't believe the time future Minho spent with his precious team is coming back to bite him in the ass. He has no control at all in this conversation, much less over anybody in this room. 

“Anyways.” Chan clears his throat. 

The authoritative stance Chan has assumed makes Minho hold his breath, his overbearing mind pausing momentarily to listen in full attention. His leader is speaking. 

“Minho will never be left alone. He’ll join us in the office and dance practices- of course, while seated comfortably on the couch. Even to and from the dorm, we’ll always have some accompanying him be it a manager-” Chan glances at Yujin, who nods. “-or a member.” Chan pats Changbin’s shoulder, squeezing to convince him to lose the tension in his posture. Chan didn’t think he could stand seeing their usually confident Minho look so intimidated before them any longer.

At Chan’s arrangement, Changbin relaxes. 

But Minho remains tense, trapped once again in his head to speak up (“Minho will… _Minho will...”_ ). He’s not being given a choice here. His leader didn’t speak with a _‘can’_ or _‘may,’_ rather choosing to end any chance of arguments and negotiations with a resolute _‘will.’_ This is such a minor detail with perhaps no hidden message, but Minho couldn’t stop focusing on it. Because at this moment, he feels like he just lost the one thing he could hold onto; he has no control over himself. 

“If everyone agrees, we’ll get him home and commence our 24/7 surveillance.” Chan concludes with a small laugh, intended to disperse some of the heavy atmosphere. 

Though Yujin and Changbin quickly agree, Minho definitely doesn’t. But before he could protest against the considerate (yet forceful and very unnecessary) babysitting, the door slams open and everyone collectively startles. 

Jisung rushes in, dressed in simple streetwear and a faux fur coat that's obviously too big on him ( _why does it look familiar?_ ). Jisung's face- Minho wants to sigh. Of course everyone would sport similar bloodshot eyes and dark circles. He should be glad they care about him enough to stay and cry through the night, but he’s starting to get tired of the guilt twisting in his stomach that’s only getting more painful. Jisung whimpers out a _‘hyung’_ then pounces towards him with wide arms and purpose. 

Minho recoils, raising his arms. 

Inches before they crash, Jisung skids to a stop. “Minho-hyung, we came here as fast as we could. Are you okay? The doctors said you were fine? _What am I saying-_ of course you are since you’re already up and about. Anyways, I can hug you, right, hyung?”

Minho manages a dumbfounded nod, unable to question how Jisung said all that in one breath when he’s suddenly getting a face full of soft hair-

“Hey, watch his head, Jisung-ah.” An unfamiliar voice warns from behind.

-and thin yet strong arms wrap around Minho's waist, tugging and squeezing so that no space could possibly remain in between them. How did Jisung expertly maneuver himself inside like this past his arms? With Jisung's soft cheek pressed snugly against Minho’s collarbone, the tears broke like a dam- nonstop and overflowing until they stained the collar of Minho's hospital gown. Minho winces when Jisung's voice cracks and gasps, deprived of oxygen in their intertwined position but unwilling to pull back even an inch- not even to breath properly. 

A warm hand seizes his own, making Minho lift his head. He's greeted by _that face_ again, this time from one that's decorated with a field of freckles. His leader’s earlier recount surfaces in his mind. 

( _“Felix was eliminated too.”_ Chan said, guiltily for some reason.)

Then, a more recent memory emerges. 

( _“Don’t cry...”_ Felix begged even though he was on the verge of tears himself. The cameras continue rolling, capturing everyone's tears and anguish with nimble hands and joy. This will make money.)

Felix opens his mouth, shaking, but no sounds escape other than a strained whimper. His head drops onto Minho's shoulder, clutching onto any part of him that's still available, staining Minho's hospital gown with more precious tears. Felix hiccups at the same time as Jisung does.

Yet Minho stays frozen. His hands are outstretched like they're broken, unwilling to touch. Because he has no idea what to do- how to comfort his two (usually) boisterous, driven, empathetic yet incredibly stubborn younger brothers. Jisung never cries in front of him. Nor Felix. Rather, from what he can remember, no one has. Minho has noticed Hyunjin and Jeongin drop a few tears after a harsh practice, but within seconds, they'd flee to seek others for comfort (that Minho knew he couldn't provide). 

Trainee Minho- _he_ never had to comfort anyone. 

The air feels heavy again, and Minho groans. His head hurts similarly to when he jabbed a finger into the stitches.

"Hyung? Are you alright?" Jisung asks as the pair finally release Minho. 

"I am…" Minho's voice trails off, unable to finish. _Is he, truly?_

Jisung furrows his brows worriedly ( _he knows too?_ ) but thankfully decides not to comment. Instead, he fishes something out of his coat pocket, displaying it to Minho with a small smile. "Anyways, thought you might want this back." 

Minho takes the phone from Jisung, having to twist a bit since both Jisung and Felix are keeping their close proximity.

Why are they still hovering over him? _It’s kind of hard to breathe._

The phone, Minho notes, is a different model than the one he's used before, enclosed in a silver and black leopard print case. A prick on his fingers prompts him to flip it over, freezing. All across the backside, there are mini photos of his members- all eight of them with him centered and surrounded right in the middle. "This…"

“Awesome, isn't it? Here-” Jisung taps his own photo. “-it's from a couple selfie with you, but the others dared to outvote me, saying that we should only use single pics. So yours is a solo. Hyung, just say the word, and I'll replace our photos. You want one we took together, right?” Jisung manages a playful smirk. 

“And like we decided, we won’t allow that.” Felix interrupts with a sniff. “With a full couple photo, it'll be-” Felix switches to English fluidly. _“-too cramped and unappealing. Too much white space in between.”_ Then goes back to Korean. “Also, it's unfair if only you get to use a couple selfie with Minho-hyung.”

“So what?” Jisung lightly smacks Minho's chest with the back of his hand (which makes Minho jolt) then points to himself. “We're soulmates. Get on my level. I know what hyungie likes.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “We all do.”

“I was the one who chose the case.”

“And I did the collage.”

“But I chose his selfie.”

“So what? You ultimately just selected the same one he had on before.” Felix retorts, mostly in English, which Jisung absorbs fully to further fuel whatever spat they're currently doing. 

Minho sighs, tuning out the two friends bickering over him, though he welcomes the noise of childish bites. Certainly, he does so compared to the sight of Chan, Changbin, and Yujin off to the side in serious conversation; there’s one more, an unknown man--

“Minho-hyung, that's Hyunwoo-hyung, our other manager,” Changbin informs, heavily. 

And Minho flinches. Because to him, Changbin's seemingly kind explanation sounds like that from a mocking child, gathering everyone to come collectively laugh at something embarrassing- that something being Minho.

He grits his teeth, clenching his fists. If he could- had less restraint- was still a mere trainee- he may have punched Changbin right then and there. Because due to his words, the playful banter ceases, and three new pairs of eyes swivel towards him, evidently confused as to why Minho couldn't recognize their own manager. 

(3RACHA finding out would be fine.) 

Minho wants to smack himself for ever thinking that. After Jisung's waterfall just now, how could Minho believe anymore that Jisung would be fine with finding out his 'soulmate' has become useless? 

With great restraint, he glares at Changbin. Then immediately falters. 

Because both he and Chan are silently demanding: _“will you tell them yourself?”_

Yes? _No, I don't want to._

Will it be better for everyone if they heard from him? 

They’re pressuring him to say it with just their gazes, anyways ( _he really should've ran away--_ ). 

As the final nail in the coffin, Jisung and Felix step back, and Minho knows he can no longer run. He feels trapped, caged, forced to face the consequences he had no hand in playing ( _curse his future self_ ). The space suddenly feels suffocating, and he misses the warmth their touch provided.

“I…” Minho forces a smile, intertwining his hands. “I don't really remember everything? Like, nothing after the survival show, so I can't help but think I'm still a fresh-faced twenty year old trainee. It’ll be fine.” He quickly promises. “Just think of me as the same age as Changbinnie for now.” 

The silence is deafening as everyone ingests this bombshell. 

Minho laughs lightly, which is probably not the appropriate thing to do at this time. Because Jisung and Felix actually echo the laughter, though theirs are more strained with disbelief. Jisung seems ready to continue the joke ( _that doesn't exist_ ) but perhaps from the tensed grimaces worn by their eldest members, it clicks for everyone. Changbin thunders out, and while Chan immediately follows him as if by reflex, Minho remains seated on the bed. He watches his members' retreating backs and the door shutting on him once more. 

Though the rest of his members had stayed, Minho avoids their gazes and lowers his head, suddenly finding rampant interest in the floor patterns and the loose strings of his hospital gown. He did his part. He explained to them his condition, so it’d be only fair for Minho to give them time to ponder over it. Like Chan and Changbin did. But for how long? And at what cost?

Minho suddenly shakes, gripping his pants into bunches in his fists. Because he can hear the managers speaking in hushed volumes. Minho can’t make out their words, but that's probably their intention. 

_If they’re discussing my removal, this is too cruel- at least leave the room--_

“Hyung…” Hesitant arms wrap around Minho’s shoulders. 

It helps him release his breath (once again, having not realized he’d stopped breathing), focusing on the weight that somehow feels grounding. But that was all Jisung’s loose hug amounted to. Compared to his initial one, there was no closeness or passion or relief. Jisung met Minho's anxiety with his own, which is completely understandable but offered absolutely zero comfort to either of them. So Minho pushes him away. 

Seriously, Minho seems to have a talent for reacting in the worst ways. But he’s not stupid or irresponsible. He truly, honestly, gravely knows this situation isn’t something to laugh at or make light of. 

_It'll be alright. I'm still your main dancer, so you better continue listening to me during practice._

_Trust me. I won't let the team down anymore._

_I can still be useful--_

Minho holds his tongue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the end of the I am. . . Section. Once I have finished writing the next section, I will return to weekly chapter uploads. Until then, thank you for reading! As always, comments are much appreciated.
> 
> You may find my wonderful beta on ao3@[DazzlingCrescent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DazzlingCrescent). Please give him lots of love, as well!


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